


ever this day, be at my side

by flintwoodandco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catholic Guilt, Choose Your Own Time Period, Crisis of Faith, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demons, Falling In Love, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Monks, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Present Tense, Smut, sacrilegious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintwoodandco/pseuds/flintwoodandco
Summary: Oliver finds his faith in the most unlikely of places





	ever this day, be at my side

Oliver wants to believe himself devout.

He follows the morning and evening prayers, puts forth the effort into his scribings. When the parishioners come for their confessions, Oliver listens with an understanding ear and instructs them how they can find forgiveness in themselves and the heavens. While the usual human emotions distract him, he finds his way back to kindness, happiness. Then, all is well.

Yes, Oliver wants to believe, but under the veil of darkness, his faith falters.

It had started with simple curiosity. He is a young man after all and his body has a mind of its own. The little touches here and there were just meant to calm down the itching needs, but now, it has turned into more than a weekly ritual. 

When silence has fallen over the abbey and the candles are blown out, Oliver lays himself bare on his mattress, already aching for touch, the dream of sharing this with someone else. He bites back his gasps and moans as his hand quickens and when he spills over his stomach, he merely listens to his breaths echoing off the walls. The evidence is cleaned up in a sound manner and everyone is none the wiser. Or if they are, they certainly haven’t made a show of making it known. 

He takes a little more time with his prayers in the morning, but then the pattern repeats itself leaving Oliver to wonder if this is a test of faith.

Again, he is exposed to the night and he starts slow, savoring each and every touch. Even if it is just himself, he enjoys it all just the same. Except, he’s not sure he is alone. There is a feeling of being watched and Oliver checks the room over once before continuing as he was. If anything, he’s even more excited at the thought of a pair of eyes on him. If this is his end, he’ll put on a show and Oliver bucks his hips up as his hand slides down. When he finishes, a wave of satisfaction washes over him and he grins. 

He might like sin a little too much.

* * *

Oliver isn’t thrown out of the abbey.

In fact, he receives daily praises over his work in the church and with the townspeople. Oliver isn’t sure if it’s just luck at this point, but he doesn’t slow down his raging body. When he arrives in his room for the night, there is a small bottle on the desk near his bed and Oliver shivers, knowing this is meant for anointing alone. 

He could make his own jokes, but instead, he strips down and prepares himself. The slickness of his length heightens his sensations, his mind driving to wild places. He can’t believe it is just himself thinking this, but he doesn’t fight his intrusive thoughts. His other hand, just as oiled, reaches between his legs, further down and he holds his breath as he eases a finger in. 

As painful as it is, Oliver convinces himself this is part of devotion and after he fills himself more, he is hit with pleasure that couldn’t be a sin at all. When he comes, Oliver nearly passes out, but he smiles in the darkness and for a moment, he’s sure the darkness smiles back.

* * *

Every so often, more gifts appear. 

Different oils, plugs, objects Oliver didn’t know were quite possible, and he wants to find just who is leaving these. If it’s one of the other monks, then he’d rather they stop playing this game and just confess. 

He stays in the chapel after everyone has left and only a few candles light the room. Normally, Oliver would be in his quarters, preparing himself for his unseen visitor. He’s almost tempted to do just that, but he needs to know who it is above all else. 

Kneeling on the steps in front of the cross, Oliver clutches onto his rosary, saying a silent prayer. His ears listen for any stray sounds, but he keeps his eyes closed in hopes of welcoming the watcher. As he mouths the memorized words, a footstep catches his ears and he continues on, louder, though out of fear or pride, he does not know. 

“...before thee we stand, sinful and sorrowful…”

“Sorrowful?”

Oliver’s eyes snap open. He does not recognize this voice, but it doesn’t stop the small grin that spreads across his face. Without a doubt, this is his admirer.

“I am simply following the prayer,” Oliver answers, his eyes on the cross. “You do not question the sinful part?”

“As if there’s anything to question.” 

The voice is dangerously close. A hot breath sends shivers down Oliver’s spine and nails dig into his wrist. He glances down, the question on his tongue already dying. The hand gripping onto him is inhuman with twisted colors and claws instead of fingernails. His skin burns, but all he can do is laugh quietly. 

“Such a risk for one like you. How has the chapel not set you aflame?”

There is a laugh to match his own as the grip loosens and a claw traces up his arm. “As if your petty rituals could consume one with my power.”

It’s then, Oliver’s hips are grabbed and he feels something hard press against him. He knows what may happen next, almost wants it to. 

“If you wish,” the voice curls around Oliver, “I can make us invisible to the world. Not to your god however.”

Falling to his hands and knees, Oliver shakes with delight. “If they want complete and utter faith out of me, I can only give it one way.”

He is exposed within seconds and he doesn’t look back as the claws rake down his back. Nothing makes sense, but as his body is prepared, Oliver thinks he can see all that the church has ever asked of him.

* * *

For days, the other monks ask Oliver about the smile that graces his face. 

If only they knew about the desecration of the chapel, how his moans echoed off the high ceilings. If only they knew a demon had made its way right into their church. Oliver finds the thrill of the secret greater however and he only says that he has been shown a new path. 

It’s enough of an answer and Oliver longs for the night to come. He wishes to see the demon, maybe face them this time during their pleasure. It consumes his thoughts and he almost misses the final confessor as they’re forced to repeat themselves. The sun is setting, Oliver is sure, and an anxiousness rises within.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.”

Oliver bites back a laugh at the sound of a familiar voice and squints through the heavy meshed screen between him and the confessor. 

“What have you done?” he replies when he remembers this isn’t how he wants to see the demon.

“I long for a man. A man I may never have.”

Furrowing his brows, Oliver adjusts in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“I believe his faith to be in me, yet he still stays in the church.”

“Can one not have their faith with the church and one they have shared a bed with?” Oliver tries to figure out what the demon is playing at, but now he’s faced with a new truth. 

“Perhaps,” the demon muses. “But I want him. Completely. He is my faith.”

Oliver sucks in a breath, his robes tight as the demon continues on. 

“My prayers are the touches lingering on his skin, I show my devotion through whispered needs and wants. He has given me belief when no one else has.”

Oliver can’t take it anymore. He bursts out of the confessional and throws the door open to the other side. His mind goes blank as he stares at the human before him, his throat suddenly dry. 

“It’s a bit less intimidating for humans to see me this way,” the demon explains. 

Their hair is dark and eyes stormy as they stare Oliver down. Oliver’s heart thumps in his chest as he admires the physique, his face flushing at the thought of wondering if the demon form is just as attractive. 

“You're the last one for the day,” is all Oliver manages to say before he flees to his quarters. 

A whirl of black smoke greets him there and Oliver locks the door as the demon pushes him against it. Their lips smash together, tongues already darting out and exploring as the demon rids Oliver of his robes. He is pulled over to his bed before the demon climbs over him, attacking his neck with nips and sucks. All Oliver can do is let his hands explore, to feel every inch of this demon.

“Let me see,” Oliver begs just above a whisper. “Let me see who you really are.”

The demon stops for a moment and Oliver thinks he sees a hint of fear. He has to remind himself that perhaps this is one of the heavens’ creations as well as he pulls the demon down into a tender kiss. 

“I need you. As you really are.”

This is all the affirmation the demon needs and while not much changes in the face, their skin turns back to its unnatural colors. Horns stick out of their head, their claws grow back and a tail whips back and forth behind them. Now, the demon is just as bare as Oliver and Oliver can’t help reaching back, giving the tail a tug. 

The demon gives a low growl, their claws digging into Oliver’s hips before they grab the supply of oil near Oliver’s cot. 

“Careful there. It’s attached,” the demon purrs as they slick up their cock and their fingers. 

Oliver can only give a proud grin that’s quickly wiped from his face as the demon’s fingers enter him. The pointed claws don’t hurt as much this time, but Oliver still has to adjust as he’s stretched wide. He grasps at the sheets, his length aching to be touched as the demon wiggles around inside. The demon leans down, giving Oliver’s length a sharp lick and Oliver almost comes right there. The grip on the base of his length holds him back and he whines as the demon’s claws hit just the right spot. 

“This won’t be touched, you’ll have to come another way,” the demon whispers in Oliver’s ears, giving his length a final tug. 

Oliver lets out a near sob, his back arching as the claws are replaced with the demon’s girth. It seems bigger in this position and Oliver turns his head, hoping to quiet his moans. When the demon is fully seated, they grab Oliver’s chin before pressing their lips together, letting Oliver free to moan as he wishes. 

The first thrusts are slow and soft, so uncharacteristic for a servant of darkness, but soon, the needs take over and Oliver is beyond screams. The demon breaks their kiss, relishing in Oliver’s mouth open in silent pleas. Their breaking point is close and the demon leans down, grabbing onto Oliver’s hands and lacing their fingers together. Their breath is heavy on Oliver’s ear and when the two come at the same time, all Oliver can hear is a prayer said in the demon’s own voice.

“...pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen.”

* * *

The dawn begins to break in Oliver’s room and he jumps at the sight of the demon sleeping soundly next to him. 

Why the demon isn’t gone yet is beyond Oliver and he shakes them awake, blushing at their small yawn. 

“You’re still here,” Oliver states as he sits up. 

The demon looks up at him, their stormy eyes now completely black and their tail flitters just beyond the sheets. “Yes.”

“I need more of an answer than that,” Oliver sighs. 

He’s grateful for the company, but he has his duties still, his wavering loyalties to the church. 

“Come with me,” the demon holds onto Oliver’s hand. “Leave this place and let us live a lifetime together.”

“I don’t know you,” Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t even know your name. We’ve been...we’ve succumbed to our desires. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The demon purses his lips, his claws tracing circles in Oliver’s palm. “My name is Marchosias.” 

Oliver blinks at the recognition of this name. He had scribed a passage about it not long ago and he runs a finger along a claw. “Why do you wish to return to heaven?”

The smile the demon gives him is filled with sadness. “When one has had a taste of light, it’s hard to forget it.” 

Marchosias, a Marquis of Hell, faithful and true, all their traits are that of an angel and Oliver can only imagine how this demon felt when cast into darkness. He sees himself, the temptation and confusion. Yet with it, there is a glimmer of something beyond all deceptions and his stomach flips.

He presses a kiss to the back of Marchosias’ hand, hoping to show his understanding. “Marc. Can I call you that?”

The demon’s dark eyes glimmer and they shift up to give Oliver a steady kiss. “I am yours.”

“Then make me yours as well,” Oliver smiles. “I should like to see the rest of the world, but I must know you.” He lays a palm on Marchosias’ chest and for a moment, he thinks he feels a heartbeat. 

Marchosias’ tail flips and in an instant, Oliver is by himself. He’s far from lonely and he rushes through his prayers, excited for what surprises Marchosias will bring.

* * *

“Why me?” Oliver asks as he digs up another weed.

It’s a breezy, sunlit day and Oliver is tending to the abbey gardens as Marchosias watches on from a low hanging tree branch. They’re in disguise as usual and the other monks think the demon is but a poor man wishing to find his faith. 

“Surely there are others less pious,” Oliver continues on. “Or ones who try with all their might to resist such temptations.”

Marchosias absently swings a leg, twisting a leaf in their hands. “I don’t want an unwilling soul.” 

It’s a simple statement, but one that buries itself in Oliver’s mind. “So it’s the soul you’re after? Another item to put on the shelf?”

“I felt that way towards you at first, yes.”

Oliver waits, but all he hears is the soft wind, the rustling of the leaves. 

“I know you don’t like it here,” Marchosias sighs. “I was hoping I could whisk you away, but the more I watched you, the more I myself wished to linger.”

Questions sit on Oliver’s tongue and he doesn’t know which one to ask first. He jumps a little as Marchosias swings down from his spot, landing with hardly a sound at all. 

“Go on. I am the demon of truths after all.”

Oliver brushes the dirt off his hands and gets to his feet, walking down no certain path. He knows Marchosias will follow. As they pass by the foray of trees and wildlife, Oliver contemplates his life. He has only known the abbey though the secrets of the outside world haven’t completely passed him by. He thinks of those who have admitted their love for others, their struggles with such mundane tasks. If he wasn’t envious one time or another, Oliver would be lying. 

His devotion, his faith no longer lies within the god he has been made to worship. The first night he laid himself bare has finally broken past the thoughts of denial. 

“Can a demon love?” Oliver speaks, a calmness enveloping his body. 

“Can an angel?” 

Oliver blinks before he turns to Marchosias. Before him stands nothing beyond earth, but simply a being. Faults and sin, yet beauty and holiness. Marchosias cannot be anything more than what Oliver asks of them. 

“If your heart must falter, let it not be towards me,” Marchosias reaches out, their hand finding Oliver’s own. “There is more than the teachings, a way of life that the heavens truly intended. After all, why do you think we were cast out?”

“And I will be soon,” Oliver breathes. 

He cannot stay in this sheltered life anymore. While he is still wrapped in the lust, the sin that is Marchosias, Oliver can see hope awaiting him. 

He’ll take the first step the following day, if it is not too late.

* * *

Eyes are on him, but it is not Marchosias.

From the morning meal to his scribings, Oliver has walked past glares, whispers hidden behind hands. He wants to force the truth out of his fellow brothers, but before he has a chance, he is left alone to fight with his thoughts. Surely they don’t know about his relationship with Marchosias. Their powers are too strong and Oliver hopes the brothers think he lies with a lesser demon. 

As he goes to set a scroll on the shelf, his arm is grabbed and he’s pulled deeper into the library by a younger brother, one of the newest to join the abbey. 

“The bishop suspects you. There is no time to warn your friend. I’m sorry.”

Oliver opens his mouth to reply but the brother pushes away, a frantic rush to not be seen with the sinner. Oliver grips onto the shelf in front of him, his heart thrumming in his chest. How prideful he has been to think he could get away with this. Now, he fears for Marchosias’ safety, but before he can take a step, the room shudders. There is a thick crash of noise before a beam of light shoots to the sky.

A demon trap has caught its prey and Oliver joins the other monks in the chapel as the prisoner is retrieved. When Oliver sees his lover, his blood runs cold, nearly crying out as Marchosias is dragged across the rough stone. 

“Now, we will see where your faith has been placed,” the bishop announces to the congregating monks. “Whomever banishes this demon back to hell has truly proven himself one with the heavens.”

Marchosias thrashes against their invisible restraints, teeth bared and skin crackling like ice. It’s only once their eyes land on Oliver that they retreat to only the whip of their tail. 

Before Oliver can react, he’s dragged up to Marchosias and shoved onto his knees. His hair is grabbed, forcing him to stare at Marchosias and someone laughs. 

“Oh, sinner of sins. It seems you must join this demon.”

Oliver tries to fight, but he’s pinned down, a knife pressed against his throat. His fear is reflected in Marchosias and then Oliver is exhausted. He stops his movements, closing his eyes as a prayer falls from his lips. Gone are the praises towards a god, a holy virgin, and instead, Oliver murmurs blasphemy as he remembers his nights with Marchosias. He asks for the blessings of mortals, of Marchosias’ companions in the darkness, of those who discover the wonders amongst their sadness.

Most of all, he speaks Marchosias’ name and then, the grips on his body, the pressure of a blade is gone. Oliver sees white, but he feels strong, larger as he stares. Wings burst from his shoulder blades, leathery and dark, and a feral growl leaves him. 

He knows this body as Marchosias’ but amongst the demon’s anger, Oliver doesn’t fly down, doesn’t attack the monks that he’s sure are staring up in fear. 

“They’re not worth our time,” Oliver speaks to the voice in his head.

There is a dismissive grunt, but the sensation of flying sets Oliver’s soul on fire. Mountains and rivers rush past until Oliver cannot take anymore and he greets his loving darkness.

* * *

Oliver’s eyes snap open and all that lays above him are leaves and branches. 

He flexes his fingers, regains sense in his body and that’s when he realizes he is unclothed, laying on a bed of the softest brush nature can offer. He whips his head towards the rustling that approaches him, his breath held as Marchosias, in their human form, appears through some shrubs with food and drink. 

“Not stolen if that worries you,” Marchosias says as they set the items near Oliver. 

Oliver shakes his head, pushing himself up as he realizes how famished he suddenly feels. The bread and water are enough to satiate him and he wishes for Marchosias to speak first. 

“Saying a demon’s name can be dangerous,” Marchosias seems to chide as they turn back into their demon form. “You could have died.”

“We were to die anyway,” Oliver mumbles around his piece of bread. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

He bites back a noise of surprise as Marchosias wraps him in an embrace, burying their face into Oliver’s shoulder as well. 

“All this time it was you. You made me fall from the heavens.”

Oliver wants to laugh, but he chooses to finish off his bread. “The entirety of human sin you are placing on me?” 

Marchosias’ reply comes with a kiss on Oliver’s neck and Oliver lets out a small moan. His face turns red, but Marchosias doesn’t stop as they guide Oliver to lay back down. They sit atop of Oliver’s stomach, running their claws along his chest and giving extra attention to his nipples. Another groan leaves Oliver as Marchosias rubs a nub between their thumb and forefinger, their eyes never straying from Oliver’s face. 

“Heaven is not as beautiful as this,” Marchosias breaths. 

When their mouths connect, Oliver arches up, hoping, aching for the life of Marchosias. All he wants is everything the demon has to offer and he doesn’t dare break the kiss, not even when his length is grabbed onto. 

As if understanding his message, Marchosias lets their tongues mingle as they steadily pump Oliver’s length. A slickness like no other coats Oliver and it’s then he’s willing to stop his affections to find out what Marchosias is up to. It seems Marchosias has created their own oil and they position Oliver’s length underneath them before sliding down until they can’t go any further. 

Both let out simultaneous moans, heads thrown back in utter adoration. Oliver thrusts and Marchosias pushes back, their claws splayed out on Oliver’s stomach. Marchosias’ tail twitches and Oliver grabs hold of it as if it’s meant to urge the demon on. 

The pleasure coils in Oliver’s stomach and his pace quickens as he pounds into Marchosias. Strange chants fall from the demon’s mouth, a pattern seeping onto their skin, but Oliver doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls Marchosias back down into a heated kiss, the two barely able to keep up with each other until Marchosias is the one to succumb to the pleasure first. Their body shivers as they spill onto Oliver and with a few more thrusts, Marchosias is filled. 

Oliver stares at the sight above him, Marchosias still panting, skin beaded with sweat and he can’t help run a hand down the demon’s face. It’s then he sees the dark symbols on his own skin, but Marchosias is quick to keep Oliver’s hands on them. 

“As you are mine, I am yours,” Marchosias begins. “We do not control each other in our faith. We believe and we love between heaven and hell as nothing more than ourselves.”

This is a prayer Oliver can repeat, one he can put his heart into. He pulls Marchosias close and the two arrange themselves to lay side by side, limbs entangled as they kiss again.

Oliver had once thought himself devout. To a strange god, to something that didn’t feel quite right. 

He was wrong and now he understands. His religion is the demon that lies with him, the one that has truly shown him the meaning of all that he was and is meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Marchosias is a [real demon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marchosias) btw (i mean "real" in the sense of being mentioned in various latin texts and such)
> 
> [Tumblr](http://flintwoodandco.tumblr.com)


End file.
